


5 Times Jim Kirk Didn't Do A Goddamn Thing and 1 Time He Did

by ZeroSystem



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, guest appearance by Jim/Gaila
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8200409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroSystem/pseuds/ZeroSystem
Summary: Bones has no idea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of something I wrote back in 2009 that was a fill for the st_xi_kink meme on livejournal that I finally dug up again. The prompt was for Kirk pining after McCoy. (I can't find the other ones I did because I don't think I ever saved them, haha.)

Five:

It’s really not fair that this bitchy, paranoid, ridiculous drunk who hasn’t shaved or showered in a week cleans up to be so hot. Not that he wasn’t hot before, but there was a ‘somebody’s uncle we don’t talk about’ vibe to McCoy – Bones, as Jim calls him privately – before they got issued uniforms and temporary housing for enlistment tests. Now he’s standing at the end of the room with one towel around his hips, digging through the standard issue duffel bag for underwear.

“Figures,” he says, and carries on complaining about their clothes; Jim isn’t paying attention. He’s staring at his chest, and the way his scattered, dark hair creeps down over his belly and underneath that towel, and his hipbones… 

“You awake? _Hello_?”

Jim realizes that McCoy has been talking to him. Oops. “Uh. No. What?” 

Bones just rolls his eyes. 

*

Four:

Girls, girls, girls. Starfleet is an _amazing place_ , Jim’s decided. They believe in topline education, ethical discussion, logical reasoning, and _mini-skirts_. Iowa’s fresh-faced farm girls will never look as good, now. He’s gotten so much action in the past month that they’re all starting to blur together. It’s great for his ego (especially with the confirmation of a “No, really, Cadet Kirk can back up the horrors that come out of this mouth” note written on the womens locker room board), but not so great for his attention span. 

For example, he’s having something of a wandering eye problem, at present. Mini-skirts are one of the greatest inventions of mankind, yes, but a miniskirt on the ass he’s currently eyeballing would be strange, unusual, and simply unnecessary. 

Bones is drunk. _Really_ drunk. And it’s hilarious, not even in a ‘aw look at the stupid drunk guy’ way, but in a way that transforms all his angry sniping into spot-on, scandalous humor. The women he’s with _love_ it.

So does Jim. Unfortunately. Who is _also_ drunk, and half-moping at the table next to the oh-so-popular doctor. He downs the rest of his drink and rests his cheek on his hand, sulking. “I hate your ass for looking so good in that uniform,” he grumbles, half to himself.

… And apparently half to the blue-skinned young man next to him, because he sighs and says: “Tell me about it.”

The night’s not a total loss, he reflects later as he’s fucking his fellow cadet (the blue skin clashes horrifically with the red uniform, but neither of them care, especially once it’s off), but he still can’t get the thought of doing this to Bones out of his head. 

*

Three:

Gaila, he’s certain, is the best girlfriend ever. She’s not _really_ his girlfriend, he suspects, because the extent of their relationship is partying and fucking and there’s a mutual unspoken awareness that said partying and fucking extends far beyond the two of them. He likes showing up in the canteen with her and reveling in being hotter and smarter than everybody else.

He’s certain of this because of that _thing_ she is doing right now while he’s beneath her, looking up and watching her ride him. Oh, _man_.

And then the door opens.

Gaila’s eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t move to cover herself, and Jim arches back to grin and greet his roommate. 

“Hey, Bones.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Jim, this is the _third time_ ,” he says, hands on his hips. “Can’t you put a sign up, or something?”

Jim tries to formulate a response – it takes him a second, and Gaila giggles at his attempts, which just makes it harder (hah, hah) with her moving on top of him. He should really, really not be so aroused by the fact that Bones is watching this. “Actually,” he manages, voice breathless. “No. Want to stay?” 

McCoy is out the door faster than he came in.

“That could have gone better,” Gaila observes. 

“No shit.”

*

Two:

Of all the moments he expects to find himself weak-kneed or hot and bothered thanks to Bones’ antics, this isn’t it. Doctor McCoy, CMO McCoy, who’s paranoid and cranky and who has a _fear_ of space, but who manages to hold an entire starship crew together while everyone else is panicking or running off to blow shit up. Jim’s not sure how he manages to get between the bridge and sickbay with such speed, practically in two places to plan with everybody, yell at _him_ , and then come back down here and terrorize the nurses and patch everybody up. 

But he’s not being cruel, Jim can see. He’s distracting them. If the nurses and techs are busy, they’re not falling apart at the destruction and the death of their comrades or the sight of Captain Pike in that bed. McCoy is there through it all, strong, flawless, no chip in his armor. 

They don’t have time to talk, but they share a wordless look. Jim wonders if he knows what all it means, to him. 

*

One:

Jim can barely fucking stand it. 

It was bad enough in the Academy, where they roomed together, and any attempt could have backfired and made things _weird_ , ruining the friendship he values so much – but now, being captain, relations with his fellow officers are expressly forbidden. 

Why does that make him want it _more_?

McCoy’s voice raises, going on and on viciously about containment of something – the flu, a cold, he has no idea. He’s too busy spacing out to that voice, raw and tense and hot, that gets so much more _southern_ when he’s really angry. He bites his bottom lip and shifts in his seat, hand down the front of his pants. He shouldn’t. Really. But he can’t help himself, and the comm has a mute button. He pushes it, blocking sound from his end and letting Bones’ voice fill the room. 

He’s noisy, even with his free hand fisted and shoved in his mouth. It’s the hardest he’s come in weeks, and he’s still shaky and breathing a bit fast when he finally answers and gives him clearance to do whatever he needs to do. Jim slumps back in his chair when the connection ends, and is immediately beset by the uncomfortable, empty feeling self-love will leave you with when it’s a substitute for something you truly want.

*

Zero:

Dinner in captain’s quarters is always a great escape. He usually goes out, or down to the meal deck, mingling. Not tonight, though; it’s been a busy week, and Jim is glad for the company of his best friend, even if the food is just from the replicator and the whiskey’s synthetic. 

“I feel like I’ll never get used to seeing you in that gold uniform,” Bones says, looking at him in a way that’s a little dreamy, but McCoy hasn’t had nearly enough to drink to write it off to something like that. 

Jim smiles, leaning against the arm of his chair. “Why? Does it clash with my hair?” 

“You’re an ass,” Bones informs him, but there’s no malice behind it, and he has to look away, smiling, almost embarrassed. “I guess I just can’t believe we came this far, this _fast_.” 

Something tightens in his chest – something half-physical and half more - and Jim leans further still. “I think the blue suits you,” he tells him. “Doesn’t clash with anything.” It should sound goofier than it does, or maybe teasing, but there’s a weight and softness to his voice that betrays his intent, and just like Bones, he hasn’t had _nearly_ enough to drink to write it off. 

There’s a long moment (or maybe it’s not so long, Jim can’t tell, as he forgets to breathe) where they just look at each other, maybe questioning, maybe soaking in the realization. He wonders if he should draw back, change the subject – but Bones looks so open and curious, and—

Fuck it.

He’s out of his chair in an instant and in McCoy’s, half-climbing on the man to kiss him. There will be no tentative or exploratory first-times now; it’s all or nothing, just like he does everything. Half a heartbeat in and he fears he might just get shoved off, but Bones kisses him back, grabbing him and pulling him close, the both of them clamoring and touching and kissing, shoved in this one uncomfortable seat and neither of them care because nothing exists but this. 

“I’ve wanted you,” McCoy says, against his ear, arms around him, a breathless admission. 

Jim’s fingers tighten in the blue jersey of his shirt. “Good.” They kiss again, softer the second time. 

“ _Good_.”


End file.
